


As He Moves

by scottmcniceass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn thought he wanted to know where Liam worked. Apparently he thought wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As He Moves

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, let's be real for a moment here. This is completely self-serving. I'm selfish and I couldn't help myself. Also top and bottom liam in this because I'm excessive and, well, who needs much plot anyways, right? :/ My apologies. 
> 
> (also let me once more thank my darling lea, for everything and anything.)

 

A year and a half ago, when Zayn was first starting university and learning to live on his own (and also learning to hate dorm rooms and shared houses with small, single bedrooms that he was never allowed to smoke in, according to the landlords) he'd been apprehensive when his friend Harry had mentioned that  _his_  friend Liam was looking for a roommate. To be completely honest, Zayn doesn't really share his space well, and he never has. Living with three other siblings made him a bit territorial when it comes to his things, and he never grew out of that habit.

Now, he honestly can't believe there was a time he was uncertain about this. Liam is his saving grace. The light of his life. He is warmth on a cold winter night, or whatever other bullshit metaphors there are. Liam is all of those things.

When Zayn walks in the door after a particularly gruesome day of classes that didn't end until exactly twenty minutes ago at  _six-thirty at night_ , and started somewhere around nine, to the smell of food cooking and the apartment spotless, he wants to cry a little. Whatever Liam's making smells fantastic, there's soft music playing, and as soon as he kicks off his shoes he can see Liam moving around the kitchen a little frantically while somehow still singing along on tune and everything.

"Smells good," Zayn comments, passing the kitchen to toss his bag carelessly onto his bed from the door of his room. It's not like the room is all that big. There's just enough space for his bed, a small table, and the wardrobe for his clothes. Nothing else.

Liam gives him a grin over his shoulder, still at the stove, stirring around things in a pot. "You sit," he orders. "I didn't have classes today and you look exhausted. Plus, you have work in two hours. You're not allowed to move until you've relaxed for at least a minute."

Zayn groans, falling onto the sofa. Liam's right, but he wishes he hadn't been reminded. He doesn't want to go to work today. He wants to curl up on the sofa and never move again. He wants to burn all the books in his bag because, really, what was he thinking, studying literature? He's taken the one single thing in the entire world that he loves and twisted it into a stress inducing nightmare.

"Yeah," he mumbles to himself and to Liam, eyes already closing. "That sounds like a good idea."

He must doze off because the next thing he knows, he's being shaken awake and Liam's handing him a plate of fettuccine Alfredo with grilled chicken (one of the only things Liam can make without burning or poisoning it) that looks as good as it smells. Zayn takes it from him and Liam seats himself on the other side of the sofa, already forking up a bite, eating a little sloppily like he always does.

"You missed Deadliest Warrior," Liam informs him. "They did vampires versus zombies. I recorded it for you."

"Did you watch it?" It's the one show they can agree on. The only issue they've had, living together, is that Liam prefers sports and reality shows, and Zayn prefers, well, trashy dramas and anything with historical significance.

"Nah," Liam says. He swallows his food and reaches for the remote. "Figured I'd wait for you."

It's not like it means anything; it's just one of those selfless acts of kindness that Liam performs every single damn day, but Zayn can't help but feel like it does mean something. Because it means something to him, at least, that Liam could have watched it all day but instead he waited for Zayn because he knew Zayn would want to watch it with him instead of by himself.

By the time he's done eating, though, Zayn can hardly keep his eyes open enough to focus. They're heavy and every time he blinks they get harder to reopen, and he sets his plate on the table, unable to find a good reason to even bother trying. He can call in sick to work, get someone to cover his shift. Or he could just not go, lose his job, lose them their apartment and – okay, fuck, he's opening his eyes.

"Turn around," Liam orders.

Zayn rubs at his eyes and does as he's told, turning until his back is facing Liam. There's a beat where nothing happens and then Liam's hands are kneading at his shoulders, rubbing down his back, pressing into his hips. Zayn groans, tipping his head back, and he's in love. He's so fucking in love with Liam that it's ridiculous, but what can he do? The guy is an angel. He's fucking flawless, and Zayn is powerless against that. Fuck, he'd be more surprised if he  _wasn't_  in love with Liam, because on top of that he's also, like, incredibly fucking fit, too.

"You're tense," Liam comments. He digs the heels of his palms in a little too hard, but as soon as he stops there's this sudden relief and an incredible feeling of calm spreading through Zayn's whole body. "Better?"

"Loads," Zayn sighs. "You're amazing."

Liam laughs. "Uh, no. I just have enough experience with this." Which is true, since it's not the first time this has happened. In fact, it happens a lot, actually, the massages and Liam making dinner for him on his more stressful nights, and again Zayn tries not to look into it, tries to remember that Liam had a girlfriend until exactly a month and a half ago, a  _serious_  girlfriend that he's probably still getting over, and Zayn's supposed to be his friend, not some asshole who prays on him after that and—

"Stop thinking," Liam orders. "Just relax. If you fall asleep, I'll wake you in an hour and a half so you won't be late for work."

Zayn can't help it; he leans back against Liam, shutting his eyes, and Liam hesitates for a moment before wrapping his arms around Zayn's waist and leaning back against the sofa, pulling them both down so Zayn's cushioned on his chest. He keeps his eyes closed, inhales the smell of  _Liam_  and laundry and cologne, and he falls asleep just like that, no doubt snoring and drooling and making an ass of himself.

When he wakes up Liam is pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and hurrying around the apartment. Zayn sits up slowly, checking the time on the stove. It's only nine and he has half an hour before he has to get to the grocery store for the last shift of the night, but he doesn't seem to be the only one needing to head out.

"What's up?" he asks, stretching and popping his back.

Liam jerks to a sudden stop, and he vaguely says, "Work. Got called in. Someone else cancelled."

"Oh."

Zayn isn't a sharer and he never has been. He's pretty personal when it comes to most things in his life, but that doesn't extend to Liam at all and it hasn't since the second week they moved in together and he came home to find Liam on the sofa watching  _Batman Begins_. Liam knows practically everything about him, from his major in school to the names of all his sisters.

He knows nearly everything about Liam, too, except where he works. Liam never tells him, and Zayn never outright asks because he feels that, if Liam wanted him to know, he would have told Zayn. But he didn't.

"Don't wait up for me," Liam says, pulling on a button up. He pauses in the bathroom, door open, and fixes his hair a bit before smiling winningly at his reflection.

Zayn doesn't anymore, but one time he did and Liam didn't come home until nearly three in the morning, just before Zayn was about to text him to make sure he was okay. "I won't," he says.

By the time Liam leaves, Zayn is pulling on the ugly green vest he has to wear for work and adjusting his nametag before he finds his keys and leaves, locking the door securely behind him. And because work after a grueling day of classes isn't enough, it rains on his walk there and his hair is fucked through his whole shift; the girl he's working with tonight, Diana, takes twenty minutes longer than her allotted break, which means that he doesn't get to have a cigarette between his shifts like he normally does; on top of all that, when he finally gets to go home in two and a half hours, he still has to read over a chapter of a novel for his class the next morning.

Zayn fucking hates Wednesdays.

 

o|o

 

Zayn wakes suddenly to the world underneath him shifting. His stomach swoops and his eyes pop open, and he scrambles to grab at the nearest thing before he falls. Only the nearest thing already has a pretty good grip on him, and Liam chuckles softly as he adjusts Zayn in his arms.

"You fell asleep on the sofa again," he explains, still carrying Zayn like he weighs nothing, which is so not true. Liam only has, like, fifteen pounds on him, okay? Only Liam's all muscle and abs and  _biceps_ , and Zayn's – he has abs too. They're there. Somewhere. "I didn't want to wake you, but obviously that failed."

"Right," Zayn mumbles, voice rough from being asleep for so long. Liam carefully lowers him to the ground, but Zayn wishes he hadn't. Liam smells heavily like sweat and lingering traces of cologne, which should probably be gross but it's not. And he's a little unsteady on his feet, his mind foggy from waking up so suddenly. "What time is it, anyways?"

"A little after two," Liam admits. Now that he's not carrying Zayn anymore, he's heading for the bathroom. "Gonna take a shower. You should probably go back to bed. You look dead on your feet."

Zayn nods, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks at the sofa, at his books spread out on the table and the novel he'd been reading laying on the cushions, carefully closed and bookmarked with a scrap piece of paper that Liam must have ripped out of the phonebook on the side table. He still didn't finish his chapter, but it can wait until morning. He's too fucking exhausted to stay up any longer.

"See you in the morning," he says offhandedly, since the bathroom door is already shutting between them.

"Night," Liam says before the door clicks into place, and the sound of the lock turning follows close after.

He can hear Liam singing in the shower when he falls into bed without even taking his socks off. It's soft and barely audible, but he knows Liam's got an incredible voice. He can sing better than anyone Zayn's ever met, and it's sort of like a lullaby, the sound of his voice and the running shower, and Zayn falls asleep after blinking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, reading the faint  _2:17_  and wondering what the hell it is Liam does that keeps him out well past midnight.

 

o|o

 

"I hate this place," Zayn grumbles, tucking his arms close against his side as Liam leads him through the trashy bar. There are peanut shells on the ground, the smell of beer and men who haven't showered enough lingering in the air. The windows that show the street outside look like they haven't been washed since 1986, and the inside hasn't been decorated in nearly as long.

Liam laughs at him, not turning around as he heads for a booth with only two occupants. "I know you do," he says over his shoulder. "That's why we always come here."

"You're buying all my drinks," Zayn warns. "If I have to hang out here, I'm not doing it sober."

"Is he already complaining?" Harry asks as they slide into the booth, Zayn beside Harry, Liam moving in beside Niall. "Before you even sat down, Zayn? That's a new record."

"Am I the only one with a functioning nose?" Zayn demands.

"My nose hasn't worked right since I snorted cocaine that one time," Niall says, deadpan and serious.

Harry snorts and the table jostles, probably from him kicking Niall in the shins, if Niall's sudden yelp is any indication. "You've never done cocaine," he states.

Niall frowns at him. "How would you know?" Harry gives him a blank look. "Okay, I've never done cocaine. Why do you have to ruin all my jokes?"

"Because it wasn't funny."

"And you're obviously an expert on that one," Zayn mutters, craning his neck to try and spot one of the wait staff. Of course, the only one Zayn can see is bent over a table, chatting with a group that looks to be his friends, not even attempting to work. Because shitty atmosphere isn't enough, this place has terrible service, too. How is it still open anymore? Zayn has no idea.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asks, indignant.

"Why can't you hear a pterodactyl go to the bathroom?" Liam asks. Before anyone can answer, he finishes with, "Because the 'P' is silent."

Zayn groans, Niall shakes his head in disappointment, and Harry's lips press into a firm, straight line and his face starts to go red. Liam raises his eyebrows expectantly, Harry's shoulders shake, and then a laugh bursts out of his mouth and he clutches Zayn's leg too tightly as his eyes water.

"There you go," Zayn says to him. "That's what I meant."

"What? That was a quality joke."

"It really wasn't," Zayn assures him. "Really."

Under the table, a foot nudges against his ankle. At first he thinks it's accidental, but then it happens again and when he looks up Liam is smiling softly at him. "Want me to get you a drink from the bar?" he asks.

Zayn takes one more sweeping look of the room, but the waiter is actually sitting down at the other table now, and Zayn knows from experience that he won't get a drink unless they go up to the bar and get it themselves. "If you want," he says. "You don't have to."

"I don't mind," Liam promises. "Anyone else want anything?"

"'nother beer," Niall says.

"Hard lemonade," Harry adds.

Liam holds out his hand expectantly, and Niall rolls his eyes as he and Harry fish bills out of their pockets, handing them over. Zayn defiantly crosses his arms over his chest, but Liam doesn't even give him a look before he slides out of the booth.

"Why doesn't he ever make you pay?" Niall asks. "You make more money than I do."

"Because I refuse to put any of my money into this shithole," Zayn says.

It's a bit of a front, though. In all honesty, Zayn doesn't hate this bar as much as he knows he should. There's football playing on the TV over the bar, and it's not as loud as the clubs they sometimes frequent; the regulars are all people Zayn knows by either name or face, and his name is scratched into their booth alongside Liam's. Plus, the others love it here. As shitty as it is, it feels like a home away from home. It's a constant setting in their life, and Zayn's grudgingly come to enjoy parts of it.

Not that he'd ever admit that out loud.

"That," Harry says, sipping the last of his first drink, "and because Liam is in love with you."

"Don't," Zayn warns. He's done with this conversation and it hasn't even started. Or it hasn't started  _today_ , but it's always being brought up and he lost patience with it a long, long fucking time ago. "You know he doesn't. Just fucking drop it, Harry."

"No need to get vulgar," Harry says calmly.

"Don't see what the big deal is," Niall puts in, of fucking course he does, "considering you two are practically married already."

Zayn stops listening, but not just because he knows his throat would go raw before they'd believe a single denial that came out of his mouth when it comes to this subject. They're convinced that Zayn and Liam have a thing, but they  _don't_. Not that Zayn doesn't want them to have a thing. He'd – he'd definitely be on board with that, yeah, but Liam isn't and he  _knows_  Liam isn't.

Fuck, Zayn remembers what it was like when Liam's girlfriend and him broke up. He remembers the late night arguments over the phone just before, the slammed doors when she'd come over and Liam's quiet brooding in the days that followed the final blowup. The last thing Liam needs after that is Zayn trying to move in on him.

But apparently the last thing he needs isn't other people hitting on him. At the bar, on the other side of a table of rowdy men yelling at the TV, Liam's leaning on the bar and laughing along to something some guy Zayn doesn't recognize says. The guy puts his hand on Liam's arm and everything about it, from the way the guy touches him to the way Liam leans into it, screams  _comfortable_.

Zayn's teeth grit without him meaning for them to.

Liam and the guy at the bar both look over at the table suddenly, and the other guy breaks out in a wide grin and says something that makes Liam's entire expression fall. He starts shaking his head quickly, almost panicked, and the other guy starts towards their table as Liam scrambles to grab the tray with their drinks and follow after him.

He's got brown hair slicked back, blue eyes, and almost as many tattoos as Harry and Zayn. The first thing he does is slide into their booth right beside Niall, and then he grins at Zayn across the table and says, "So  _you're_  Zayn."

Before Zayn can reply to that, Liam grips the edge of their table so hard his knuckles go white, and he snaps, in a tone Zayn doesn't hear him use very often, "I thought you were leaving."

"I was," random guy says, "but why miss an opportunity to meet your friends? I'm Louis, by the way."

Niall's giving him a look as if Zayn should know who the hell this guy is, but Harry politely extends his hand and says, "Nice to meet you."

Instead of shaking his hand, Louis pats the sliver of booth on the side opposite Niall. "Sit," he says to Liam. "I'm staying a while."

Liam bites his lip, and he pulls at the bottom of his shirt. It's his nervous gesture, one he only does when he's really stressed out, and it makes Zayn want to wrap his arms around him and also make this guy leave, since he's clearly the reason for Liam's discomfort. But he doesn't do either of those things, and Liam reluctantly sits down next to Louis.

"So I know who  _you_  are," Louis says to Zayn, "but I don't know either of you," he adds to Niall and Harry.

"Don't know who you are either," Niall says. He reaches past Louis for his drink on the tray Liam brought over, as Liam darts looks to all of them.

"Liam and I work together," Louis says, and Zayn goes from annoyed to interested instantly.

"Really?" he asks.

Louis slings an arm over Liam's shoulder, and Liam suddenly goes so red Zayn wants to ask if he's okay. "Oh, yes," Louis says with a smirk. "For over a year now. He's  _wonderful_  to work with. A real show stopper."

Zayn isn't alone in his confusion. He knows (because he might have asked) that Harry has zero idea what Liam does, either, and his eyebrows are scrunched up in thought at Louis' words, too. Niall is just as oblivious to what Liam does as well, but he doesn't seem to care as much as Zayn does.

Liam, on the other hand— "Shut up," Liam almost growls. "Seriously, Lou, shut the fuck up."

Louis' fingers dig into Liam's shoulder, but his expression softens a bit, a little more serious and a bit less playful. "Sorry," he says. "Don't see why you make a big deal of it when you're so good at—"

" _Louis_."

"Alright, alright." Louis sighs dramatically, leaning into Niall like they know each other well. "I thought he was just stuck up at work because he's dedicated. I didn't know he was always like that."

"He is," Niall confirms. "Stick in the mud, Liam. Poops on all the parties."

"Hey," Liam says, at the same time that Zayn grunts, "That's not true."

It's not. Liam is level headed, yes. That time Niall nearly started a bar fight, Liam was right there to pull him away and calm everything down. When Harry went overboard on alcohol during exams last year, Liam was the one who cut him off and made sure he slept on their couch that night so he could keep an eye on him. But Liam can party better than almost all of them, except Niall. Liam can toss back shots and lose it on the dance floor when he really wants to; the only difference is that he's smarter about most things. He doesn't take it too far, and he knows when not to cross the line.

"I'm sure it's not," Louis says. He steals Harry's spiked lemonade from the tray and gulps down a quarter of it in one go. "So what are we up to tonight? Just a bro night out, or what?"

"Yeah, it was," Liam says tightly. "So maybe you should go."

"I'm a bro," Louis argues. "Look at me. I'm a bro. Why can't I join in on bro night out?"

"Because," Liam spits. "This is invite only, and you weren't."

Zayn has never in the year and a half he's know Liam ever heard him talk to  _anyone_  like that. Not unless he was fighting with someone who seriously deserved it, but aside from being a bit overbearing and slightly annoying, Louis hasn't really done much to warrant that from him. It takes Zayn by surprise, but Louis barely seems to care.

"Fine. I'll go. But you call me after, yeah?"

And just like that, Liam's shoulders slump and the stressed lines in his forehead smooth out. "Yeah," he breathes. "I will, I promise."

Louis kisses his cheek before he slides out of the booth, and then he lays a hand on Zayn's shoulder and says, "But if you get the chance, love, you should take him out on the dance floor. Liam can seriously—"

" _Go_ ," Liam all but yells.

Laughter trails after Louis as he walks away, and Zayn frowns at Liam the whole time, so confused by everything that just happened. Apparently he's not the only one either, because as soon as Louis' laugher disappears, Harry says, "So that was awkward."

Liam groans. "Let's just pretend it didn't happen."

"I've never seen you hate someone so much," Niall comments. "Seriously, Li. You were fucking rude, man."

Liam winces, removing his own drink from the tray. Zayn does the same, sipping at it slowly, reveling in the burn of too much vodka in the orange juice. "I don't hate him," Liam says. "I really don't. He can be a lot, sometimes, but I like Louis well enough."

"Didn't seem like it," Zayn tells him. And he's trying not to be smug about it, but he can't help but remember how Louis had looked leaning into Liam at the bar, and he's sort of glad Liam reacted the way he had.

"It's complicated," Liam mutters. "Louis has a big mouth."

Niall nods. "He almost blew your cover on where you work. You looked like you wanted to shit yourself."

"Why are you always so vague about it?" Harry wonders.

Part of Zayn wants to push too, but Liam's practically squirming in his seat, eyes wide and fever bright, and he's turned that lovely shade of pinkish red in his cheeks again. "Can we just drop it?" he pleads. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Let it go," Zayn adds, pulling his gaze away from Liam to glare at Niall and Harry.

Liam gives him a grateful look, but Zayn knows he doesn't deserve it at all. As soon as they get home, Zayn is getting answers. If he doesn't want to say it in front of the others, fine, but Zayn and Liam are closer than that, aren't they? He thought they were, anyways.

 

o|o

 

"So… what? McDonalds, or is it that ice cream store downtown that makes the staff sing everything they say?"

They're not even fully in the apartment when the words come out of Zayn's mouth. Liam calmly shuts the door, turns the lock, and then he turns around and gives Zayn a blank look before moving towards his bedroom. And Zayn should let it go, right? He knows he should let it go. A good friend would let it go. A good friend would wait for Liam to tell him on his own terms.

Zayn is apparently not a good friend.

"Seriously, where could you possibly work that is so embarrassing that you can't tell  _me_?" It sounds a lot more hurt than he meant for it to, and Liam stops at the door to his bedroom, shoulders tensed. "I'm not going to make fun of you, Liam, I swear."

"I know that," Liam sighs. He turns around, and the look on his face is way too reminiscent of the one his dog when he was younger used to give whenever he got in trouble. It's all wide eyes and scrunched up brow and pouty lips, and it instantly makes Zayn feel bad. "I just don't see why it's a big deal. Why does it matter where I work?"

Zayn shifts a bit, wrapping his arms around his waist. "It doesn't," he says, but it's pretty obvious to both of them that it  _does_.

Liam raises his eyebrows. "So why is everyone always asking about it, then?"

"Because you're always vague about it!"

The sad-puppy look is gone, replaced with a rabid-dog one. Liam's lips curl, his eyes narrow, and it's not often that Zayn ever sees that look on his face, and he's pretty sure it's never been aimed at  _him_. "It's not your business," Liam says shortly. "If I want to be vague about it, I will. You're my roommate, not my boyfriend. You don't have to know everything about me."

Zayn's mouth closes with an audible clack. The apartment gets deafeningly quiet and there's this horrible feeling in his gut, like he'd eaten too much and it's all threatening to come back up. It's like they're both frozen, him and Liam, neither of them moving or speaking, staring each other down across the room.

Fuck.

"You're right," Zayn finally says, shaking his head. He's always been really good at feigning indifference when someone's hurt him, and this is no exception. "No, you're right. It's not my business. I shouldn't even…."

Liam rubs a hand over his face and Zayn's words trail off, dying in his throat. He should go to his room, he thinks, but he feels rooted to the floor in front of their door, unable to move. And Liam's shoulders are slumped and curved defensively, like he's waiting for Zayn to cross the room and punch him or something.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Zayn doesn't say anything back. His jaw clenches and he wraps his arms a little tighter around himself. He's never felt like he was on unsteady ground with Liam before. Liam is his rock, his fucking everything, nearly, and they've never fought before. He doesn't like this, and he has a feeling that anything he says right now will only make it worse.

"I'm not even embarrassed about it," Liam says, still speaking in a hushed voice as if the shouts from a minute ago are still echoing in the room and anything else will be too much. "It's not about that. It's about – I don't want you to think that –" He cuts off, wincing and tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Do you really want to know?"

"Not if it's going to cause a fight," Zayn says.

"Just." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "198 Lansdown. My next shift is on Thursday. If you really want to know, stop by around ten."

Liam disappears into his room, shutting the door between them. As soon as he's gone, Zayn crosses the room and snatches up the notebook and pen he'd left on the table earlier, quickly scribbling down what Liam had just said.

What the hell is on Lansdown? He tries to remember, but he rarely goes to that side of town. He sticks to the area around the university, never needing to go much farther ever. All his friends live around here, their bar is just two streets down and the grocery store he works at is three.

It doesn't matter. Apparently he's going to find out.

 

o|o

 

_Diamond Dancers_.

Zayn stares up at the neon pink words and the flashing, also neon pink image of a woman swinging her hips on the sign above the blacked out windows of the building. There's a closed Italian restaurant just next door, and Zayn looks down at the paper in his hands, wondering if he heard Liam wrong and if he's supposed to go to 19 _6_  Lansdown, not 19 _8_.

Which has to be the case, because there's no fucking way. There's  _no fucking way._ His mind refuses to process; he can't put the pieces together even though he knows they'd fit perfectly if he'd just take a second to think about it. He  _doesn't_  think about it. He  _can't_  think about it.

So instead he takes a deep, not-at-all-calming breath, and then he pushes open the heavy door of the strip club.

The room he steps into isn't very big, and there's another door just across from the one that shuts behind him, only there's a burly man standing in front of it with his arms crossed. To his left, there's a small, glassed in booth where a bored looking guy with a crooked pair of glasses on lazily scratches things down into a notebook and reads over a textbook.

The guy looks up and Zayn realizes that he's been sort of standing there since he walked in. "Can I help you?" the guy demands, a little snapped.

"Uh." With a quick look at the muscles blocking the door, Zayn steps towards the booth. "I was just, um."

The guy behind the glass raises the pencil in his hand and taps it against a poster taped to the inside of the glass.  _Thursday, Saturday, Monday— Ladies nights_  is written in bold white letters on the plum coloured page. "Maybe try back tomorrow," the guy adds.

Oh, god. "I'm think I'm supposed to meet a friend here?" Zayn tries, and it comes out sounding more like a question than he meant for it to. "I mean I  _am_. My friend said he works here and he, uh, told me to come by."

Glasses-guy gives him a long, hard look, and then he shrugs and says, "Whatever, I'm not here to judge. Thirty-five to get in the door."

Zayn blinks at him in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"If you were wearing eyeshadow, I'd let you in for ten. But you're so not getting the ladies discount looking like that. Sorry, man."

Grudgingly, Zayn pulls out his wallet and hands over the money. Liam is so paying him back for this. Liam is paying him back for this because it's a joke. It's a prank. It's a poorly executed, shitty prank, and he can't figure out why Liam would do it but he has a feeling Liam's just inside those doors, sitting at a booth with a grin on his face that'll widen when Zayn comes in, and then he'll have a nice, long laugh at Zayn's expense over this whole situation.

Maybe Niall convinced him to do it, actually. He owes Zayn for that April Fools prank when he and Harry slipped temporary blue dye into his shampoo and everyone called him Blues Clues for a week. But even for them, this is a pretty shitty joke. It's not even funny. It's just uncomfortable and awkward.

Or, he considers, maybe this is Liam's way of getting back at him for prodding into his personal life.

"Enjoy your time," Glasses-guy says, waving him off and returning to his textbook.

The giant guy at the door steps aside, and Zayn ducks past him, pulling it open.

He's never been in a strip club in his life, and he has a feeling it's different tonight than it normally is. There's a large group of women near the stage, and they're either a bridal party or it's someone's birthday, judging by the plastic tiara on one woman's head. There are more seated around the small club, at round tables and on the stools at the bar.

And it's  _loud_. Not from music, either, but from the women. They're rowdy and giggly, and Zayn looks around, praying to spot Liam so he can grab Liam and go home. Only Liam's nowhere to be found, and Zayn has no idea what to do because a few of the women are eying him with interest.

Trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, Zayn heads for the bar, thinking that maybe Liam ducked into the bathroom or something and maybe the bartender can help him.

"First time, sweetheart?" the older woman behind the counter asks. "You look nervous."

Zayn doesn't bother sitting on one of the stools. "Sort of," he says vaguely. The music in the room cuts off and the women all settle in their seats, the entire club nearly silenced all of a sudden. "I'm looking for a friend, actually. He's—"

He's not sure what's louder: the music that comes on without warning, or the shrieks of nearly every woman in the room. The beat is low, slow, building and familiar. It's a little different than he's used to, the bass amplified, the track spread up, but he's heard this particular Usher song more times than he can count.

"You're gonna miss the show," the bartender warns, nodding towards the stage. "He's the best we've got."

He doesn't even mean to look, because that's so not why he's here right now, but he looks over his shoulder anyways and first takes in all the women going crazy by the stage, hands out stretched as a guy in a fireman's suit comes out, all the lights in the club lowered except at the bar and on stage.

The fireman's helmet is lowered, shadowing the face of the man on stage. He's wearing an almost authentic looking suit, too, only Zayn's fairly certain that most firemen don't swing their hips quite like that, and he's also pretty sure that you're supposed to wear something under the jacket and not have it undone and hanging open to reveal the sculpted chest with a smattering of hair underneath.

" _It's gonna burn for me to say this,_ " plays from speakers situated around the room, and the irony of the song isn't lost on Zayn as the guy on stage shrugs out of the jacket seamlessly as he moves, revealing wide, tan shoulders that are way too familiar for Zayn, the straps of his suspenders black against his skin.

His throat is so dry as the song plays and the women go crazy over the guy on stage. Zayn might not have experience with this type of thing, but the boy moving in the spotlight is hypnotizing, demanding to be watched as his abs flex and his hips stutter forward suggestively along to the beat.

The suspenders fall down next as the beat of the song speeds up just a bit, and Zayn grips the edge of the bar tightly as the guy jumps down off the stage and the woman with the tiara tips her head back in a laugh. He climbs onto her laugh, taking his helmet and putting it on her head as her friends shriek and he grinds against her.

The stripper looks over his shoulder for just a second, and Zayn holds Liam's gaze for a long moment as he continues to dance against the laughing woman with her hands hovering over him as if she's not sure if she can touch or not.

She doesn't get the chance to decide because Liam is off her almost instantly, getting back on stage in one easy, graceful movement that ends in him propped up on his arms, biceps bulging as he grinds down against it, and the women in the club go nuts.

" _Even though this might bruise you, let it burn_ ,"and Liam's hands are working at the buttons on his pants as he moves, crossing to the other side of the stage to give the other women attention before the lights go out completely for just a second, plunging the room into darkness. When they flash back on, Liam's working the stage in nothing but possibly the tightest black boxers Zayn has ever seen, and there are hands reaching for him, trying to get a feel but never getting close enough to actually get one.

And Zayn pushes away from the bar, walking stiffly towards the exit. He doesn't look back once on his way out the door, doesn't check to see if Liam notices him leave or if he's too damn caught up in removing his clothing to pay any attention to Zayn.

The guy in the booth from earlier takes one look at Zayn as he leaves and laughs, "I warned you."

The air outside is bitingly cold against his skin. It's like a shock after the warmth of the club, and it makes it hard to think for a moment. Zayn's grateful. He digs his cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting one up as he walks briskly away from the club. He took a cab here, but he's walking home. He doesn't have the money to waste on another ride, and he needs the time to clear his head.

Only it doesn't help. The cigarette burns down to the filter, and Zayn's jeans keep getting uncomfortably tight every time he closes his eyes and Liam's body flashes in his mind, thighs bared and chest glistening with sweat reflecting the spotlight on the stage.

Shit.

Zayn could handle this. He  _could_  handle this if it were just about the stripping. It's a shock. Of fucking  _course_  it's a shock; Liam is more suited to volunteering at an animal hospital, or helping out at an old folk's home. But stripping— He didn't see it coming. He should have, he realizes. It makes so much fucking sense, but he didn't see it coming at  _all_.

But that's not the problem. Zayn could get over that. It's Liam's life, Liam's body, and— That's the problem right there. It's not the fact that he takes his clothes off for money. It's just— how he looks while he does it. The way his hips move, the curve of his thighs, the chest hair, wide shoulders, tanned skin and the  _look on his face_. The look on his face said he  _liked_  it. That he liked everyone watching him and.

Zayn did, too. Zayn liked it. Zayn fucking loved it, and it's all he can see when he blinks his eyes closed, ingrained on the back of his eyelids like a brand. Even just remembering it has something stirring in him, stomach tightening, heat waving over him despite the cool air. It's too much, it cuts off his airways and makes his head swim, and how the hell is he supposed to look Liam in the face ever again?

He can't. He's dealt with his crush pretty well, he thinks. It's not like it's affected their relationship. He and Liam are friends and he's happy about that, but how the hell is that supposed to continue when Zayn can't even picture his face without Usher playing in his mind and images of Liam dancing around accompanying it?

By the time he gets home it's still going through his mind, over and over like a video on replay. Only now it's not the woman with the tiara that Liam jumps off the stage and crawls on top of. It's  _him_ , and Zayn wouldn't have hesitated. He would have touched, would have guided Liam closer until he could feel every twist of Liam's hips, every shift of his shoulder muscles and the sweat covering his chest.

Damn it. Zayn slams the door closed behind him, kicking off his shoes without care for where they go.

Their apartment has never felt so damn small. There's no room for him to breathe, and he goes to head to his room and ends up backtracking to the living room, only the dishes from the dinner he and Liam had earlier still litter the table and he can't stay there, either. But his room is too small, the bathroom smells like Liam's shampoo and body wash, and he has nowhere else to go. So he picks up the plates and carries them to the kitchen, and then he starts cleaning.

It's not that Zayn can't clean, but he usually doesn't because Liam always gets there first. It's not even a matter of him leaving the mess until Liam gets it for him, it's just that Liam somehow is always there first, doing it before Zayn can even offer to and waving him off when he can.

But he cleans. He cleans the dishes, throws out the mostly empty condiments bottles in the fridge, takes the garbage to the bin outside, organizes his books for school and wipes down the ashtray until it looks brand new. He pulls out their old, rumbling vacuum that Liam rarely uses because he opts to sweep instead and their neighbors usually complain about the noise, but he doesn't care. Let them complain. He'd seriously love someone to try him right now.

He's just shutting the closet, putting away the vacuum, when he hears Liam's key slide into the door and the lock turn. He takes a darting look at his bedroom and considers running, but instead he stays planted right where he is, too stupid and incapable of moving before Liam comes in the door.

And Liam walks straight past him, a blank look on his face. He takes one look at the spotlessly cleaned apartment and then ducks into his room without a word, slamming the door behind himself. Zayn stares at it, eyes wide, holding his breath.

Liam comes right back out, stomping over to him, and then he shoves Zayn until his back hits the wall. It's not a hard push, either, but he was taken so off guard by it that he didn't think to plant his feet to brace the blow.

"You wanted to know," Liam hisses. "Are you happy now?"

Explosively angry. That's what Liam is. He doesn't get mad often, but when he does….

"Liam," Zayn says.

"You just  _left_ ," Liam spits. "You didn't even— you just  _left_."

"You're a stripper!" Zayn blurts. "What the hell was I supposed to do? Sit there and watch you dance around without any clothes on?"

Liam jerks back like Zayn had returned the shove or something. "I—" He winces, looking uncertain. "I don't know. I thought you'd – I thought you'd at least wait for an explanation, but you didn't. And now you're not even meeting my eyes."

He can't. "Yeah, well, you couldn't have just fucking told me, maybe? Did you really have to give me a demonstration?"

"You wouldn't have believed me," Liam says lowly. "You know you wouldn't."

True. There's no way in hell Zayn would have bought that if Liam had just come out and told him, hey, I kind of take off my clothes and dance around practically naked for a living, how about that? But— but still. Tonight was—tonight upset the balance of everything Zayn's been trying so hard not to tip over. They can't go back from this. Whatever happens, they can't go back, and that's terrifying.

And it's all Liam's damn fault.

"And this is why I didn't tell you," Liam says quietly, anger completely dissolved. He looks almost helpless, trying to meet Zayn's eyes and failing. "It's not exactly something you go around advertising, and I knew you'd— I knew it'd change things. And it has. It already has."

Zayn winces, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Just say  _something_ ," Liam pleads. "Are you mad?"

Zayn finally opens his eyes and meets Liam's gaze. "Why would I be  _mad_?" Of all the things, Zayn isn't  _mad_.

Liam shrugs, and this time he's the one looking away. "I don't know. Because I didn't tell you, maybe."

"No, I— I get it. I get why you didn't."

"Because I should be ashamed of it, right?" Liam guesses, sounding bitter.

"Are you saying you weren't?" Zayn counters. "You hid it for over a year. Seems like you're pretty ashamed of it."

Liam snorts at him. "I'm not," he denies. "I didn't tell you for  _your_  benefit, not mine. If I thought you could handle it, I would have told you sooner. But everyone freaks out about it. My mum nearly had a heart attack. My dad offered me money, said if I was so down on my luck that I had to resort to stripping that they could help me out. People  _think_  I should be ashamed of it, which is why I don't tell them."

Zayn pushes away from the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. He goes and falls onto the sofa, trying to think as Liam crosses the room to sit beside him. He's sitting way too close and way too far away, all at the same time, and it's not helping.

"Just explain it to me, then," Zayn says after a while. "I'm kind of blindsided here."

"One condition," Liam counters.

"Okay."

"No judgment, no matter what I say."

Now Zayn snorts at him. "When have I ever judged you?" he asks. " _Ever_?"

Liam nods, accepting this. "I'm not going to give you a sob story," Liam tells him. "I'm not going to tell you that I was chasing a dream and down on my luck and this is the only option for me, and all I need is for someone to save me from my sad life of taking my clothes off for money."

Zayn can't help it; his lips tilt up a bit because he knows Liam wouldn't. The last thing Liam would ever need is someone to rescue him. He's too damn stubborn and self-sufficient for that.

"Anyways," Liam continues. "My first weeks here, I was having a pretty shitty time because I had no money and I refused to ask my parents for any. And Louis is in my musical theory class with me. He was talking about work one night, and how he had such an easy set up because he only works three times a week for a few hours, and he said the money was pretty good. So I asked him what he did, and he told me to stop by."

"Louis from the bar," Zayn clarifies.

"Yeah. So I stopped by, and I'm not gonna lie: I was pretty surprised and embarrassed but— I don't know. I stayed, and he wasn't working that night but a few of his friends were, and afterwards he introduced me to them. The woman who owns the place, Alex, she told me to take my shirt off and then said if I ever needed extra cash, she'd let me try out a night and see how it went."

Zayn can picture this so clearly; Liam, a little younger than now, probably back when his hair was still buzzed off because it only grew back a few months ago. And he can picture the red in Liam's cheeks, can imagine just how embarrassed he was walking into that damn strip club the way Zayn had tonight.

"And I liked it," Liam finishes. "I tried it out, and I was good at it. _Great_  at it, actually. You know what my life was like before. I told you about it, how I spent years with other people picking on me and bringing me down, and this— this is different than that. I'm good at it, and it feels good to know that an entire room full of people want me, and not one of them can get me. I like that feeling."

Zayn discreetly shifts on the sofa, trying not to think about it. "I just can't wrap my head around it," Zayn admits, but that's mostly because he's trying really hard  _not to_. "I just can't— I mean, I can't picture you getting naked in front of strangers for money. That's just—" Okay, he  _can_  picture it, but he really shouldn't. Not with Liam sitting close enough to notice how his breath hitches and he has to hide the bulge in his jeans.

"I don't get  _naked_ ," Liam says. "It costs way too much money to get me completely naked. I just get  _mostly_  naked."

"Yeah, I, uh. I saw that," Zayn whispers.

"And?" Liam prompts. "This is the part where you tell me it's degrading and I should stop."

Zayn rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. "I mean, if. Like, if you like it, then…. I'm not going to tell you to stop if you don't want to."

Liam looks a little surprised. "Really?"

"Obviously I don't think it's the most brilliant thing in the world," Zayn admits. "And it's going to take a bit to wrap my head around it, but— yeah. It's your life, Liam. If you like it, then I don't have a problem with it. But if it  _is_  only because you need the money, you know I'd—"

"Yeah, I know." Liam grins at him. "Don't worry about it. When I decide I don't want to do it anymore, I'll figure something else out. But I'm pretty content with things the way they are."

"Okay then," Zayn says. He stares straight ahead at the TV that isn't even turned on.

Liam's shoulder bumps into his, and he gives Zayn a blinding, lovely grin. "So?" he asks. "That aside, what did you think? Was I good?"

Zayn shoves him away with a laugh because that's what friends are supposed to do, right? But later, after Liam's jumped in the shower and Zayn's gone to bed, he lays there staring up at the ceiling, seeing nothing in the black room but the spotlight on Liam's unclothed body.

Fuck.

 

o|o

 

Liam acts like it's no big deal, so Zayn does the same. When he's sitting in the living room, feet propped up in Liam's lap as he reads over a passage for class the next day, and Liam abruptly gets up and pockets his phone with a sigh and a short, "Gotta go into work. Louis cancelled on me," they both act like it's normal. Like Liam's going to assemble burgers or pack groceries or something instead of going to take his clothes off in front of about forty women.

And while he still has trouble sleeping without dreaming of it, while he still can't let his eyes trail lower than Liam's face because he starts remembering how what's hidden underneath his t-shirt and sweats looks as he's humping a fucking stage, he's sort of glad that he knows. It's like a secret between the two of them now, one no one else is in on. When Harry 'discreetly' asks Liam about work and he deflects the questions easily, Zayn isn't on Harry's side anymore, wondering what the hell is up.

So he gets over it. Liam is a fucking stripper. Whatever. Big deal.

Or he thinks he's over it until he comes home early from school because of a headache. He can afford to miss one class, it won't kill him, and his head feels like it possibly might. He knows Liam's home as he unlocks the door, knows his classes ended two hours ago and he'll probably be on the sofa, flicking through the TV, or napping or cooking or something.

He's not. He's on the floor in front of the TV, shirtless, doing sit-ups that make his breathing heavy and his brow sweaty. Zayn freezes, door still halfway open as Liam pauses and looks over at him.

"Hey," Liam says, eyebrows scrunching up in concern. "You're home early."

"Uh." Zayn licks his lips, trying not to look at Liam as much as he can. "Got a headache. Thought I'd come home and sleep it off."

Liam pushes himself up easily, and the move is too similar to one he'd done on stage that night for Zayn to handle. And he doesn't stop there; he walks right across the apartment, coming over to press a hand against Zayn's forehead.

"You don't have a fever, at least," he says. "Anything else? I can make you some soup, if you'd like. It's coming out of a can, but I'll put it in the pot and not the microwave and everything."

Zayn laughs weakly, trying not to inhale the scent of sweat and deodorant radiating from Liam's way too close body. "It's just a headache," he says. "I'll be fine. Just need to sleep for a bit."

"Cool," Liam says easily. He thumbs at the drawstring of his sweats in a way that's probably not supposed to be provocative but  _is_. "I'm gonna finish working out, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, you— go ahead," Zayn says, removing his shoes before he heads to his room.

At the last second he pauses, hand on his doorknob, ready to shut the door. But if he leaves it open just a bit he has a perfect view of the living room from his bed, and Liam's back on the floor, midway through a sit-up already, and he can't make himself do it. Instead he leaves his door open just enough, ignoring the guilty feeling inside of him.

He doesn't bother getting out of his clothes before he climbs into bed, and then he rolls onto his side, facing away from the door, trying to resist temptation.

That last about five seconds, because Liam lets out a loud grunt and he can't help it. He rolls over, trying to be discreet as possible as he watching Liam work out in their living room. There's more grunting, loud and almost exaggerated. Liam's face and chest are red and slick with sweat, and the way his calf muscles flex with the force of keeping them planted on the ground shouldn't be as hot as it is.

He's way too fucking hard to keep watching that, and he's about to pull his pillow over his head and block out the light when Liam falls back against the ground, panting, and then he tilts his head, meeting Zayn's eyes.

Shit. There's a grin tugging at Liam's lips, but he looks away quick enough that maybe he didn't actually see Zayn watching him. Like, his room is dark and it's— maybe he didn't see.

Liam gets up, scratching at his stomach, and Zayn bites his lip, realizing just how creepy he's being but apparently incapable of stopping. Liam stretches, hands reaching above his head, and then he disappears out of sight and Zayn lets out a breath he hadn't realize he'd been holding.

 

o|o

 

"We've got, like, ten minutes to get there, Liam!" Zayn shouts through the bathroom door.

Liam, still in the shower, groans at him and says, "Why's it that you're always late and I never complain, but the one time I forgot and you won't even let me take a shower?"

Zayn laughs, stepping away from the door. "Take your time," he calls. "I'll send Harry a text, let him know we'll be late."

"No, it's fine," Liam yells back.

There's only a beat between the time of the shower turning off and the bathroom door suddenly opening. A wall of steam hits Zayn like a brick, dampening his skin and making it harder to breath, but it's Liam that knocks the air out of his lungs, that makes him stumble back and an embarrassing sound tumble from his lips.

He steps out of the bathroom in just a towel that hangs loosely on his hips, and Zayn didn't think to back up enough when the door opened. This close up, he could practically count the chest hair, honestly, and Liam's smiling pleasantly at him as if he has no idea what the fuck he's doing to Zayn right now.

Probably because he doesn't.

"I just need to get dressed," Liam says, ducking past to head to his room. He brushes accidentally against Zayn's side, and Zayn sort of just stands there, dumbstruck. "You're all ready to go, right?"

"Yeah, I— yeah." Zayn nods dumbly, moving away from the bathroom door. He shakes his head, and the fog seems to clear. "I've been ready for, like, twenty minutes, man. Hurry it up, Liam."

Liam laughs as he shuts his bedroom door between them. "Don't rush me," he calls through it. "I'll remember this next time you're late because you can't figure out what you want to wear, and I'll drag you out in just your boxers."

For some reason Zayn can't see himself protesting that all that much.

Liam comes out of the room a moment later, button-up shirt unbuttoned. And was that necessary? Was it  _really_? His fingers are deftly doing the shirt up, but his chest is still bared and his head is tilted down, giving Zayn a clear opportunity to ogle him without getting caught.

He jerkily looks away, forcing himself to think about something else, anything else, until Liam says, "Okay, ready. How's this look?"

Zayn shrugs. "It's a plaid shirt," he says vaguely. "You own about a hundred. It looks fine."

Liam frowns at him for a moment before asking, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Zayn says. "I just want to get this over with."

"Are you ever going to stop complaining and admit that you  _like_  the bar?"

"No."

Liam shakes his head fondly, hand brushing Zayn's for a moment before he heads for the door, leaving Zayn a beat behind him, too stunned to move at first.

They walk to the bar, like they always do every Friday and have for the past year, minus that single time where Liam was out with his girlfriend, Harry had the flu, and Niall was back home visiting family. It's a tradition of sorts, one that they don't really  _talk_  about but that they've all sort of accepted and worked into their schedules automatically, no matter what.

And just like always, when they walk in the door Harry and Niall are already at their booth, always earlier because  _usually_  Zayn makes them late by tossing half the contents of his closet all over his bedroom floor before stealing one of Liam's shirts and letting Liam drag him out of the apartment.

"We should start making you pick out your outfit the night before," Harry comments as he slides into the booth on his right.

Zayn makes a face at him, stealing the lemon hooked onto the edge of Harry's glass to throw it at him. "Blame Liam," he says. "He's the reason we're late tonight."

"Sorry," Liam says sheepishly. "Had to shower."

Niall slings an arm over his shoulder. "It's alright, Liam. We forgive you."

"Oh, so it's okay for him to be late but not me?"

"Liam apologized," Harry points out. "All you do is snap at us for making you come here in the first place."

Liam chuckles, getting right back out of his seat. His hand falls to Zayn's shoulder and he squeezes lightly before he says, "Ignore them. I don't mind that you make us late. It gives me an excuse to see you in my clothes." And then he walks away, heading for the bar to get them their drinks like he always does.

Zayn just— he just sits there, fucking floored because— what? Did he— what?

He realizes Harry's snapping in front of his face and he grabs Harry's hand, pushing it away from him. "Don't do that."

"I thought you were broken," Harry says. "You alright, or should we rush you to the hospital to make sure your heart didn't just explode in your chest?"

"Fuck off," Zayn mutters. Whatever just happened is too much to deal with on its own, let alone with the two of them bugging him about it. "He didn't mean it like that. You know what Liam's like. He says things sometimes and he doesn't realize that it comes out—"

"Sounding like you two totally just went at it before you got here and he's making sure we know you're his territory," Harry supplies.

Zayn glares at him. "You two are more interested in the two of us than I am."

"That's not true," Harry says.

"Yeah. You write  _Zayn + Liam_  in all your notebooks," Niall adds.

"Who writes what in their notebooks?"

Zayn accidentally kicks Harry when he jumps at Liam's voice, and he nearly spills the entire drink that Liam had slid onto the table in front of him without him even noticing. He gives Zayn an expectant look as he sits down beside Niall, and then he turns that look on Harry and Niall, too, when Zayn doesn't answer.

"Niall," Harry says easily, and Zayn has never loved the guy more in his life. "When we were fifteen he'd spend all lunch scribbling  _Niall Bieber_  in his notebooks."

"On time," Niall mutters. "One fucking time."

Zayn sips at his drink, trying to ignore the way Liam's foot is brushing his ankle under the table, way too many times for it to be an accident. He also tries to forget what Liam had said before he'd went off to the bar, and the way he'd touched Zayn's hand before they left the apartment. It's all too much for him to handle, it really is.

"I'm getting drunk tonight," Zayn decides out loud.

Niall grins, splaying his hands out on the table. "Let's do shots."

 

o|o

 

Those three words never follow good times, or they never have in Zayn's experience. Though, admittedly, he tends to not remember much after those words are spoken so he could be wrong.

"He can't walk," Liam giggles into his neck. "He can't— even sober he can't walk. It's like, uh. That Disney movie. The one with the mooses, you know? He's like a baby moose."

Zayn shakes his head, trying to piece together what's actually coming out of Liam's drunken mouth as he tries to convince his own drunken hands to get the key in the lock. "You mean deer, right?" he says. "Bambi. Not— not moose."

"Yeah." Liam nods enthusiastically, still leaning heavily on Zayn even though it should probably be the other way around. It usually is, too, but Liam participated in shots tonight, and that's never a good thing. All four of them getting off their asses at the same time is a recipe for disaster, since they usually rely on each other to get them home. "Harry's a baby moose. He can't walk. He just— he falls. He falls everywhere. And when he's drunk he falls everywhere twice."

The key finally turns in the lock and they stumble into the apartment, Zayn making shushing noises when Liam starts giggling again. "You're trashed," he says, but he's way too amused about it.

" _You're_  trashed," Liam shoots right back.

"I'm slightly less trashed," Zayn says. "Let's get you to bed."

Liam suddenly slumps against him, like his entire body gave out at once, and Zayn struggles to keep them both standing. "Let's get  _you_  to bed," Liam says, and then he laughs like this is the best joke in the world. "With me," he adds. "You wanna sleep with me, Zayn?"

Zayn is so grateful that Liam is far too drunk to remember in the morning that Zayn gasped at those words. "On the sofa?" Zayn offers, already heading that way, pulling Liam along behind him like deadweight.

"Yeah," Liam sighs. "I like the sofa. 's not Liam's sofa. It's not Zayn's sofa. It's LiamandZayn's sofa. Our sofa. Love our sofa."

"You're the most affectionate drunk I've ever met," Zayn comments, as his legs bump against the edge of the sofa. Liam immediately wraps his arms around Zayn's waist and then he falls like a fucking brick, pulling Zayn down with him until they're both cramped onto the small space of the couch, pressed together to keep from rolling off.

"Just with you," Liam whispers, eyes already closed. He presses a sudden, over so quick he may have imagined it, kiss to Zayn's lips. "Night, sweetcheeks."

"You're so fucking drunk," Zayn says, and he is, too, which is probably why that's the last thing he remembers before he passes out.

 

o|o

 

Zayn bumps the door closed with his hip, already toeing off his shoes, thrumming with excitement. His last class of the day ended twenty minutes early, but that's not what's got him going. What's got him going is the tickets in his hand for the new Thor movie that he'd sort of won during a game of Jeopardy in class today.

He thought, going into uni, that it'd be all stressful amounts of work and mature people, and he was half right. It's stressful, sure, but mature? Not so much. One of his teachers actually required them to read the Harry Potter series so they could discuss symbolism and also the creation of a fictional world, and his one teacher holds a Jeopardy day every month where the winners get dumb prizes like sweets or, in this case, movie tickets.

"Liam," Zayn calls, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud. "Guess what I—"

Zayn cuts off at the loud moan that whispers through Liam's closed bedroom door. He pauses, sure he heard wrong when he hears a low, "Oh, fuck," followed by another moan.

His mind blanks for a second as he hears Liam's bedsprings creak, and his whole face heats up and his eyes narrow. "Yeah," Liam pants, and that heat coils in his stomach, too, because Liam sounds— but it's fighting with annoyance and jealousy because there's no way Liam didn't hear him come in, and he's still going at it with whoever the fuck he has in his room.

That is just bad roommate etiquette. That's why Zayn's annoyed. Not because he's – not because he cares that Liam's fucking someone. Liam can fuck whoever he wants. Whatever.

Zayn stomps towards the kitchen just as Liam lets out another loud, breathy moan, and he pulls open the fridge as violently as he can, all the jars and bottles on the door shaking and clanking together. He slams it a second later, pulling open a cupboard, banging it against the one next to it and then he starts pushing around pots and pans, making as much noise as he can just in case Liam  _didn't_  hear him come in. There's no way he doesn't know Zayn's here now.

There's one more loud, strangled sound followed by silence. Zayn stands up, kicking the cupboard door closed. He's not actually hungry, couldn't eat anything if he tried right now, and he goes to stomp to his room when Liam's door opens and he steps out.

He looks fucking  _wrecked_. His hair is a mess, strands matted to his forehead with sweat that goes all the way down his flushed, unclothed chest. His sweatpants lay low on his hips, and his eyelids are heavy, his eyes dark and his lips swollen.

"Oh," Liam says sheepishly, eyes widening. "I didn't realize you were home."

Zayn crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to look like a petulant child. "Just got in."

"I'm gonna, uh, shower," Liam says, rubbing at the back of his neck. And then he disappears into the bathroom, water running almost immediately.

Zayn frowns, suddenly confused. He pads cautiously, quietly towards Liam's bedroom, and then he pushes the open door even wider until Liam's room is on full display, and—

There's no one inside. There's no one else here but him and Liam. Which means that—Oh. So Liam wasn't fucking someone, he was— right. Oh. Okay. That— oh. Fuck. He can practically feel his brain melting at this sudden realization, and then he ducks into his bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him. He only just leans against it before he gets a hand in his joggers, and then he's wrapping his fingers around his cock, tipping his head back and biting on his lip to muffle any sounds.

He doesn't wank to the thought of his best friend getting himself off. That'd be fucking weird. And when he comes, he doesn't bite the palm of his hand to muffle said best friend's name, either.

"Zayn?"

Zayn jumps guiltily, eyes wide, and he looks at the mess staining the front of his sweats. "Uh, yeah?" he calls, praying Liam doesn't just walk in as he hurries to his dresser, pulling out a clean pair of sweats that he replaces with the ruined ones. "Did you need something?"

He pulls open his bedroom door as soon as he's fully dressed, and he gives Liam an expectant look.

Liam blinks at him, eyes trailing down to Zayn's lips, and then his eyes suddenly widen and a smirk brightens his face. "You okay?" he asks. "You're sweaty."

Zayn nods, running a hand through his hair. "I ran home," he lies. "Won tickets to see Thor in class. Wanted to tell you about it."

"Brilliant," Liam says. "I can't wait. But do you want to help me with dinner?"

Zayn smiles tightly. "Sure. What are we burning tonight?"

Liam makes a face at him. "I'm a culinary master, Zayn. Don't question that or you'll be eating microwavable ramen noodles and pizza pops for the rest of your life."

"Is that supposed to be a bad thing?"

Liam shoves playfully at his shoulder before heading to the kitchen, and Zayn trails after him before changing course and slipping into the bathroom to wash his hands first.

 

o|o

 

Ever since that day he went to the strip club, Zayn's been on unsteady ground with Liam. Sure, things didn't crumble the way he expected, but still. Things are  _different_ , only it's not  _him_  that's making them that way. He thought it would be, thought that Liam would for sure realize how Zayn felt because he couldn't stop checking Liam out or thinking about kissing and touching him, but it's Liam who's changed.

It was that Friday before the bar where it started, he thinks, with the random hand touching and then the suggestive comments about Zayn in his clothes later on. And then that day he was working out in their living room and he'd spotted Zayn watching him and he'd acted like it was no big deal. And then that day Zayn came home to Liam being quite loud in the bedroom with no one but himself.

Liam is playing with him.

Maybe it's not even intentional, but it doesn't matter. It's like every opportunity he gets, he gets Zayn going like crazy. Soft touches, these little secretive looks on his faces, the way he says things sometimes. Zayn is convinced Liam doesn't even realize he's doing it, but he  _is_  doing it.

And tonight— tonight takes the cake.

Zayn's curled up on the sofa, text book in front of him, glasses slipping down his nose as he flips through the pages, sighing periodically because it's part of his homework routine. Liam comes out of his bedroom, cigarette dangling from his fingers (one of Zayn's, and he didn't even ask but Zayn doesn't mind because it's not like Liam smokes all that often— and he has a feeling he's a reason for that recent bad habit, too, because when they first moved in together Liam looked at cigarettes like they were the devil) and his phone pressed to his ear, this impossibly bright grin on his face.

"Yeah, I'll definitely be there," he's saying, and every word Zayn's read in the last ten minutes slips from his mind, forgotten. "Sounds good. Bye." Liam hangs up, pocketing his phone, and then he says, "Guess who was just offered a thousand quid an hour to do a party tomorrow?"

Zayn's eyes go comically wide, and he chokes on air. " _What_?"

Liam laughs, falling onto the sofa, jostling Zayn's books. "Remember when I told you I was good at what I did? I meant  _really_  good. I make more money than all the guys I work with, and I was just requested to do a birthday party for some – I don't know, really. All I know is they're giving me a thousand an hour because it's such short notice, and they've got me booked for two."

"That's— Shit," Zayn breathes. That's more than he makes in a month in one fucking day. "Are they hiring by any chance?"

Liam laughs again, hand falling onto Zayn's thigh. "I'll ask Alex," he jokes, but they both know Zayn isn't serious. He wouldn't be able to do it. It's not that he's self-conscious about his body or how he looks (quite the opposite, most of the time) but he doesn't think he could handle being the center of attention to thirty women while completely naked. "But I need to practice my routine, actually. Do you mind?"

"Nah, it's fine," Zayn says. "I'll let you know if the music gets too loud." Liam gets up, and he expects him to head into his bedroom but instead Liam starts moving the coffee table, and Zayn realizes— "Wait, you meant out here?"

Liam freezes, eyebrows drawing together. "There's not enough room in my bedroom. Is that going to be a problem?"

Zayn shakes his head, dropping his eyes to avoid Liam's gaze. "No, that's— Yeah, that makes sense. It's fine. I'll just… keep doing my homework and you— yeah."

"Let me know if I distract you and I can stop," Liam tells him.

Zayn snorts out loud. The chances of him  _not_  distracting Zayn right now are slim to none. In fact, he's already distracted and Liam's done no more than move the table out of the way to give himself more space. He hasn't even turned the music on or started dancing, and as soon as he does Zayn knows that any and all concentration he has will fly out the cracked window to his left.

But he tries not to be obvious, picking up his pen and trying to keep his eyes on his book. The words blur, though, and he watches Liam out the corner of his eyes as he sets up his music on the TV. As soon as it starts up, Zayn groans internally and he might as well throw his books away because there's no way in fucking hell he's going to get anything done.

" _Baby grind on me,_ " plays from the speakers, and Liam has his back turned to Zayn.

Zayn bites his lip, watching Liam's sweater slip down his shoulders as he moves. He's always known Liam was a good dancer; they've gotten drunk together enough times for him to be no stranger to Liam dancing, but this is so different than him at the club. At the club, he's reserved, dances more like a typical guy, moving just enough to the beat to not be just standing there, but not much more.

This is so different. He puts his whole body into it, and when the sweater falls down to his forearms, revealing the tank top underneath, Zayn can see every shift of his shoulder blades when he moves along to the beat, slow and purposeful. Each move has a reason if he pays attention. The suggestive hip swings, the way he moves his arms so they look their best, muscles flexing.

Yeah. Zayn can definitely see why someone would pay thousands to watch that. He definitely would.

After one play through of the song, Liam's skin is glistening. He wipes a hand over his forehead, looks over his shoulder and grins at Zayn, and then he starts it over and this time the tank top comes off. It happens so fast. Zayn looks down at his paper for a second, and when he looks back up Liam's back is on display.

He can just imagine the marks his nails would leave on Liam's unclothed flesh, how the pink would look against his tan shoulders, running parallel to his spine. Can imagine getting up, putting his hands on Liam's waist, pressing his lips to the back of Liam's neck and whispering the lyrics to him.

" _Now come and sex me 'til your body gets weak_ ," and Zayn would. Until Liam was a mess, fucking ruined.

The music cuts off abruptly and Liam turns around, a hand on his hip. "It's not working," he says.

"It's, uh. It's not?" Zayn asks, because it was definitely working for him.

Liam nods, running a hand through his sweat dampened hair. "I'm used to having an audience to play to," Liam explains. "Even when I'm practicing, usually Louis or one of the staff is around."

"Right," Zayn says, dumbfounded.

"I can—?" Liam hesitates, and Zayn can't tell if his cheeks are red from embarrassment or the exertion of his dancing. "Do you think you could help? I don't want to distract you from your work, but…"

"Yes," Zayn says immediately, blinking rapidly. "I— Yeah, I'll help you. Whatever you need."

Liam gives him a grateful smile before coming over and moving Zayn's books off the couch. Then he taps Zayn's arm, gesturing for him to move. "It'll be easier if there's room on either side of your waist," he explains, and Zayn moves automatically, brain no longer functioning.

The music starts up again, and Zayn rubs his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans because Liam is facing him this time. And just like that night at the club, the look on his face says he loves every second of what he's doing.

Slowly, so slowly that Zayn can't breathe through it, Liam moves towards him as the song plays. Zayn stays completely still, like if he moves he'll ruin this as Liam makes it over to the sofa and then he— he climbs on top of Zayn, just like he had to the woman with the tiara at the club. His knees rest on the sofa on both sides of Zayn's body, but he's not exactly sitting on Zayn's lap. He's hovering over it, hands braced on the back of the couch.

"It makes the arms look better," Liam explains in a low voice over the music. "Even if you don't need to hold yourself up, it's all about how it looks."

"Oh," Zayn says. He feels boxed in, trapped, and every breath is a struggle, his jeans so tight it's almost painful.

"We're not supposed to touch much," Liam explains. He rolls his hips down and, just as he said, he doesn't really touch Zayn much. Just a little brush of his ass against Zayn's crotch, and it's enough to send sparks through him. "And usually the audience is told not to touch, too," Liam adds, eyes lowering to Zayn's mouth for a second. "But you can touch, if you like."

Oh, god.

"W-where?" Zayn asks, unsure. Is this really happening, or has he died and gone to heaven?

"Anywhere," Liam says roughly. His lips quirk up. "Free of charge."

Zayn groans. What is Liam  _doing_? Doesn't he get that they can't come back from this? That they've crossed an invisible line and now they're— he doesn't know, but it can't be good. And he doesn't care at all because he can feel the heat radiating from Liam's body and the music sounds through the two of them, and nothing else matters.

" _Step One: you're kissin' on me_." Liam bites his lip, and Zayn wants to do just that. " _Step Two: girl, I'm caressing your body._ " Zayn moves his hands to Liam's waist, thumbs pressing in. " _Step Three: now I'm licking off the whipped cream._ " Boldly, Zayn leans forward and, with one single questioning look at Liam, sucks at Liam's collarbone, the taste of sweat and skin salty under his tongue.  _"Step Four: and oh, you're grinding on me._ "

This time he feels the weight of Liam press into him as Liam moves his hips down against Zayn's. His nails dig into Liam's waist, and Liam makes a small sound, barely audible underneath the music. Zayn wants to swallow it down, wants him to make that sound again, louder, over and over but—

"Liam," Zayn says quietly.

Liam climbs off him, and Zayn feels lost without his weight and warmth. There's a playful glint in Liam's eyes as he backs away from Zayn, holding Zayn's gaze, swinging his hips, rubbing a hand down his own chest as he goes. When his fingers reach the waistband of his sweats, he hooks his thumb underneath them, runs it along the edge with his head tipped back and his lips parted.

Zayn pushes off from the sofa like Liam has his own gravitational pull, tugging at Zayn to get closer to him. He's still moving backwards as Zayn starts towards him, only now he's pushing the side of his sweats down, hip bared, and Zayn makes a low sound at the sudden show of more skin.

Hips shimmying, Liam pushes down the other side of his sweats, too, until they're hanging so low it's obscene, and the trail of hair on his stomach gets thicker, darker, coarser the lower it goes. If Liam's the leader of this game of cat and mouse, why does Zayn feel like the predator as he slowly moves closer to Liam?

Liam stops when his back hits his bedroom door, and he easily pushes it open without turning, stepping backwards into the lightless room. He disappears from sight, slipping into the dark.

Zayn follows after him.

As soon as he steps over the threshold, Liam's door shuts behind him, plunging them into absolute darkness. Zayn's breath hitches, and he tries to find where Liam is when a body suddenly presses against his, pushing him back against the closed door. He has just enough sense to wrap his arms around Liam before he hits it with a thud.

Out in the living room, the song finishes with, " _Let me get deeper shorty, ride on me. Now come and sex me 'til your body gets weak,_ " and Liam's lips find his in the dark.

Zayn kisses him back without even thinking, probably sloppy and too enthusiastic but— fuck, how many times has he pictured this in his life? He can't help it. And he doesn't want to ever stop, even when Liam pulls back he chases after Liam's lips, wanting more until Liam says, "So what do you think? Is the routine good?" all breathless and unsteady.

Because Zayn knows Liam's room as well as he does his own, he starts moving forward, guiding Liam backwards towards the bed on instinct. "Definitely not," he says seriously. "You should… definitely not do that tomorrow night."

"No?" Liam asks. Zayn feels it when Liam's legs hit the bed just before Liam falls back onto it, tugging Zayn along with him. "You didn't like it?"

" _Liam_ ," Zayn groans, settling on top of him. He's pretty sure his hands are rested beside Liam's head, holding himself up, but he can't exactly see, so.

Liam cants his hips, and Zayn almost falls on top of him. "Seems like you liked it," Liam tells him. "And it finally got you in bed with me after weeks of trying, so I'd say it was pretty good."

Zayn pushes himself up higher, and if the lights were on he'd be giving Liam a lost, gaping look. He still is, but he knows Liam can't see it so he blurts, "You  _what_?"

Liam's hands trail up his back, under his t-shirt, and it's like every path his fingers take is new, undiscovered, as if no one else has ever touched him there before even though he knows that's not true. "I've been trying to get you to make a move since the night at the club," Liam admits. "I realized that night, I think, that you look at me like that. I never noticed it before. I thought it was just me looking at  _you_ , but that night you were looking back."

"But—"

"So I kept waiting for you to do something about it," Liam continues, "but you didn't. Even after I came out of the shower and told you I liked you in my clothes. Even after I, uh, got off really loudly when I knew you were listening. I was hoping you'd come in and help, but you didn't."

"Fuck," Zayn whispers. "That whole time. I thought you were doing it by accident."

"Not an accident," Liam whispers.

Zayn leans down, open-mouth kissing Liam's lips until Liam's part, too, his tongue snaking out to move against Zayn's until they're both breathless. Liam's hands are still working at his back, pushing his shirt up higher and higher until Zayn sits back to let him take it off.

It's as he's leaning back down to kiss Liam again that the thought goes through his head. Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't dare say the words aloud, but since Liam's groping his ass and rutting against him, Zayn tries, "Do you think— you wanna ride me, babe?"

Just remembering the way Liam had looked on top of him earlier makes him twitch in the confines of his jeans, and he wants that. Wants less layers between them, wants to feel Liam around him, panting, watch him come apart as he fucks himself on Zayn's cock. He doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more, actually.

Liam flips them over without responding, trapping Zayn underneath him. The blankets are slipping off the bed and he can't see a thing, but that doesn't matter. What matters is Liam nipping at his neck, grinding against him, whispering, "Yeah."

And then he's gone. Zayn really wishes the lights were on, honestly, because he can't see. All he can do is hear Liam moving around the room, a drawer opening, slamming, and then silence. The bed dips and Zayn moves up, settling back against Liam's pillows.

He feels Liam settle in beside him just before his hand falls to Zayn's lap, thumbing at the button on his jeans. "Get these off," Liam whispers, as if they're not the only ones in the apartment and someone else will hear.

Zayn has never gotten undressed so fast in his life. He unbuttons his jeans, shimmies out of them and then tosses them into the dark abyss that is Liam's room. His boxers come next, easily sliding down his legs, and then he leans down to tug off his socks just before Liam is back in his lap.

He's really starting to see all the advantages of Liam's occupation as Liam moves against him, hands braced on the headboard. If Zayn thought he looked good dancing, it's nothing compared to how he feels while doing it. It has his head spinning, the way Liam's cock bumps against his hip as he grinds his ass against Zayn's, the breathless sounds he makes from above, lost and quiet like he's not even meaning to.

And he can touch. He remembers this all of a sudden, and then he's gliding his hands up Liam's back, scratching his nails down them until Liam arches against the touch and fucking  _whines_. His hands slip lower, and he tries to remember how to do this.

He spreads Liam's cheeks with his hands a little and tries slipping a finger between them, teasing at his hole with soft brushes of his fingertips. Liam stills above him, and Zayn freezes, thinking he's done something wrong until Liam moans, " _Zayn_."

"That okay?" Zayn has to ask anyways.

"Lube," Liam blurts, and then he feels around the bed for a moment while Zayn keeps teasing him, a little more confidently now. Liam's almost shivering on top of him; he can feel the little jolts going through Liam's body, and Zayn has never been more turned on. He can feel himself leaking against Liam's thigh now and he'd apologize if his mouth wasn't busy working at Liam's chest.

It dawns on him that tomorrow a group full of people will be watching that chest as he dances, and that only makes him suck harder, makes him want to leave a good mark. He wants them to see it. And he wants to see it too, wants to wake up tomorrow with visible proof that this is really happening, because it may just be a really good, really vivid dream. It wouldn't be the first time he's fallen asleep with images of something like this playing in his mind.

"Got it," Liam says, and then he drops the bottle right onto Zayn's chest.

Zayn snorts a laugh because – it's still Liam. It's Liam he's doing this with. Yes, it's the same Liam that he's been in love with for months, had a crush on for over a year. Yes, it's practically the only person he's been able to think about for a long time whenever he'd gotten alone and had a hand around himself. But this is also  _Liam_. This is the same person whose chest he falls asleep on after too many drinks. The same person who calls people  _donuts_  and looks up terrible jokes to make their friends laugh. This is the same guy who makes Zayn dinner and rubs his back when he's stressed, and it feels heated and rushed and wonderful, but at the same time there's something underneath that.

It's not just need, is the thing. It's not just this rushing desire to get off. Underneath that is the trust and caring that they've built over time. Underneath that is still the friendship that feels like more than anything Zayn's ever had with any other person in his whole life.

He picks up the small bottle, easily uncapping it. He not-so-easily slicks up his fingers, accidentally getting lube on his chest as he does. The bottle rolls away when he's done, getting momentarily lost in the tangle of sheets and blankets.

This time Liam is completely silent as Zayn presses his fingers against him. He's still, too, frozen as Zayn's fingers slip against him, waiting for a sign, a go-ahead to continue.

When Liam impatiently twists his hips, Zayn does just that. He pushes a finger in, feels how tight Liam is around him. One of Liam's hands falls from the headboard, nails digging into Zayn's shoulder painfully. "Okay?" Zayn asks, in case that's a sign of discomfort and not—

" _Yeah_ ," Liam says heavily, voice low and husky and warm.

But he still waits until Liam's moving back against him to work another finger into him, careful with the drag of them in and out of him. When Liam starts panting, he focuses on getting that spot, on getting him louder, and he does. Liam's legs tighten on either side of him and his nails are probably near drawing blood on his shoulder.

Zayn smirks up at him, even if he can't see it. "There?"

"You're— smug right now, aren't— aren't you?" Liam gasps out, but he sounds amused until Zayn brushes against his prostate again, and then he sort of slumps forward, letting Zayn hold more of his weight. "Could come like this. So close already."

"Fuck," Zayn mumbles. He tries not to think about that because he could too, honestly, and he should probably warn Liam about how painfully fast this is going to be over but instead he focuses on working Liam open, spreading his fingers, taking in every hitch of his breath until he gets that Liam likes it long and slow, gets louder when he drags it out than he does when Zayn's quickly fucking his fingers into him.

Liam's lips brush his cheek. "Don't have any condoms," he says quietly. "Thought I did, but…"

"Fuck," Zayn repeats. He doesn't either. It's not as if he's got the most thriving sex life here, and the last time he'd had a fuck he'd stolen a condom from Harry. Now what are they supposed to do?

"I don't… I mean, I'm okay with it," Liam says quickly. "If you are, that is."

"Yeah," Zayn says instantly. "I'm— yeah. I'm okay with that." He's definitely fucking okay with that.

Liam kisses him again, so long and slow that Zayn forgets what they're doing, fingers slipping out of Liam in favor of holding him closer, his clean hand sliding into Liam's hair, gently brushing through it.

It's Liam who breaks the kiss. It's also Liam who mutters, "Need to just…" and Liam who finds the bottle of lube again. His hands wrap around Zayn's prick without warning, and it's a miracle that he doesn't lose it right there as Liam slicks him up hurriedly, like he can't wait any longer.

He holds his breath when Liam lifts up a bit, hovering over him, and he helps out, wrapping a hand around himself, guiding his cock until it's nudging against Liam's entrance. But it's all Liam as he sinks down slowly, hands braced on the headboard once more.

There's silence in the moment that follow him bottoming out. Zayn can't breathe, think, do anything but feel Liam bearing down on him, fucking perfect and everything he'd wanted it to be— more, even. And Liam's holding his breath, too, but Zayn thinks it's for a very different reason.

"So good, babe," Zayn tells him, rubbing at his back. "You feel so good. You okay? Not hurting you?"

"Adjusting," Liam says tightly.

Zayn's hand slips between their bodies, wrapping around Liam's cock. A few slow, long strokes and he's fully hard again, heavy in Zayn's hand as he works him over, trying to distract him from any pain. Slowly, he starts moving, lifting himself up a bit. Zayn is helpless to do anything but lie there, letting Liam do all the work in fear of going too fast and hurting him.

But it isn't long before Liam's bed is squeaking with the force of Liam riding him. He's holding Liam's hips tightly, meeting him thrust for thrust and biting down hard on his tongue to keep himself quiet and to let the pain keep him from coming too quickly, because it gets harder and harder to hold on when his name falls from Liam's lips like a prayer and a curse, all at the same time.

Maybe he wouldn't ever say it out loud in fear of it coming out wrong, but Liam was made to ride cock. He's fucking amazing at it, working his body easily, gracefully, ruining Zayn every step of the way. And he doesn't stop, either, even when Zayn slows down, knowing he's too close and— "Liam," he whines, "gonna—"

If anything Liam speeds up, clenching around him purposefully, and Zayn can't— he can't. White flashes behind his eyelids for a moment, and everything gets overwhelming in the best way. He hears Liam bite out his name one last time as he pulses inside him, still riding the waves of his own orgasm as he feels Liam come between them.

He's a sticky, exhausted mess when Liam carefully climbs off him. It feels like he was the one dancing for hours, not Liam. Like he'd worked out for too long and now he's blissfully exhausted, everything deliciously worked-out and tired and warm.

"Incredible," Liam sighs, falling back against the pillows beside him.

Zayn turns his head, seeking Liam's eyes in the dark. He can't find them, obviously, but he hopes they're heavily lidded and as warm as they always are. "Yeah," he says, still unsteady. "That was definitely. Yeah."

"I've pictured that for – for months now," Liam confesses, "and it was even better than I'd built it up to be."

Zayn makes a surprised sound. " _Months_?" he demands.

"Maybe," Liam admits, a little sheepish. "We just – work, Zayn. We've always worked, since the day you moved in here with me. And we work like this, too."

They do. He wouldn't ever try to deny that, and it makes this feeling settle over him, like comfort and love and it's just— fuck, he does. It's just – Liam. That feeling, it's Liam, and it always has been.

"I'll get us something to clean up with," Liam says suddenly. "And afterwards, uh. Do you think we could sleep on the sofa, maybe?"

Fuck the mess. Zayn leans over, hovering over Liam's body. "Yeah," he says, lips brushing Liam's, "we can."

 

o|o

 

Zayn wakes up in the morning in a pair of Liam's sweatpants to the sound of Liam bumping things around in the kitchen. Judging by the light coming in the mostly closed curtain covering their window, he'd say it's just before noon. Which means it's way too early for him to be getting up, but he's got this giddy, nervous feeling inside of him and he can't get back to sleep.

Last night was – the night of his life, honestly, but it also may just be the end of something great. In the light of day, what happens to them? What happens to Zayn and Liam now?

Sitting up, Zayn rubs at his eyes and stretches as quietly as he can as Liam continues to pull things out of the fridge. At the last second a yawn tears itself from Zayn's throat, and Liam tenses, hands squeezing the egg carton as he turns around.

"You're awake," Liam says quietly, the same soft, worried look in his eyes that's reflected in Zayn's heart. "Come help me."

Zayn nods. Liam's sweats slip down his hips a bit as he heads for the kitchen, sidestepping Liam, keeping a good distance between them. Is he allowed to touch? He doesn't think so, but he wants to. That mark he left on Liam's chest stands out like a brand, like proof that last night was real. He wants to press his lips to it, but Liam's busy pulling out a frying pan.

"What're we making?" Zayn asks, voice as low as Liam's had been, soft in the silence of their apartment.

"Omelets?" Liam suggests.

Zayn nods again. Liam hands him peppers, he grabs a knife, and they go about cooking. There's no sound aside from the knife knocking against the counter, Liam cracking eggs into the frying pan, the occasional, "Oops, sorry," when their arms bump.

It's awkward and horrible and Zayn wants to cry, only he hasn't cried in— a really long time, and he's not going to now. Even though he knew this would happen. It was inevitable. They crossed that line last night, he knew they were, and he did nothing to stop it and now… they have to live in the wreckage.

Liam burns the eggs, Zayn knocks half the onions and peppers onto the floor, and they both just stop, Liam's eyes watering in frustration and Zayn tossing the knife carelessly into the sink with a thunk and a clank of metal on metal.

"Zayn," Liam says, and it hangs between them. He's waiting for Zayn to speak up, fill the silence, answer the questions they both have.

He isn't going to do that. If this – if this is breaking, Zayn refuses to put the last crack in their relationship.

Only – only Liam steps closer to him, crossing the inches that separate them in two stumbling, hesitant steps. He reaches up, cupping Zayn's cheek, and Zayn holds his breath as Liam leans in, lips slowly pressing together.

Zayn doesn't kiss him back (he's too scared to get his hopes up and show too much) but he doesn't push Liam away, either. Liam pulls back, hand dropping to his side. "Last night," Liam starts.

"We crossed a line," Zayn supplies, balling his hands into fists. "We crossed a line."

"Yeah," Liam agrees. No point in denying it. "So we can…" He trails off, taking a gulping breath. "So we can either let that ruin this, or we can— We can move forward."

"Forward," Zayn repeats, uncertain.

"I don't see how I could go back to being just your friend and roommate after last night," Liam all but whispers. "Not now when I've— I don't think I could."

Zayn doesn't either. Not now that he knows how Liam's lips taste. "Okay."

"Okay," Liam says, like they've decided something. He grins, leaning in to capture Zayn's lips again, and he realizes that they have.

Zayn kisses him back this time, no longer worrying. He tangles his hands in Liam's hair, and a groan falls from his lips as Liam licks into his mouth without a care for the fact that neither of them have brushed their teeth yet.

"Maybe we should go out for breakfast," Liam suggests when he pulls back, eying the mess they've made in their attempts to do it themselves. "My treat. I mean, I am making a lot of money tonight."

Zayn is nodding along, but Liam's suddenly tensed and taut, eyes narrowing, gnawing his lip between his teeth. "What?" Zayn asks, wanting that look in his eyes gone right now, because Liam looks like a man who was given the world and is having it taken away from him.

Liam turns away, back to Zayn. "I – I mean, I want us, Zayn," he says as Zayn puts a hand on his back, not sure what the hell is wrong. "I've wanted it for a while now. I want it to work, but… I've had it not. I know it's not – my job isn't easy for everyone to deal with. But it's. It's part of the deal, Zayn. You want me, you have to accept that too. That's the deal."

Oh. That—right. Zayn completely forgot about it. It slipped his mind.

And something white hot sticks at his ribs and his stomach, like annoyance and jealousy at the thought of Liam getting up on stage and other people watching him, touching him, but— "I don't care," Zayn says honestly, bluntly. "Like,I really don't."

Liam turns, snorting at him. "That's what you say  _now_ , but then next week we're arguing about it, and you're storming out and calling me a—"

"A  _nothing_ ," Zayn says sharply. "You know I wouldn't."

"I also know that most people aren't okay with what I do," Liam says lowly. "Especially when we're in a relationship."

Zayn takes a deep breath, thinking it through for a moment instead of just blurting anything to make Liam happy, because this is a serious conversation. Liam's a stripper. That's just – that's just how it is. And Zayn's either got to accept that, or he doesn't and they don't try.

"It's just a job," Zayn finally says. "I know you, Liam. You're not the type to cheat on someone. And I recall you saying last night that there's usually a no touching rule. As long as I'm the only one who gets to touch, I don't care who looks at you. I can deal with it. I mean, look at you. It'd be impossible for people not to, naked or not."

Liam's cheeks are flushed. "Seriously, Zayn," he says. "This isn't— it's a big deal. I don't want you to say this now and regret it later."

Zayn sighs, frustrated. He wraps his arms around Liam's waist. "I'd rather deal with this than not have you. That a good enough, Liam?"

For a moment it looks like it's not, but then Liam's grinning again, nodding rapidly. "That's good enough for me," he says.

"And you're good enough for me," Zayn adds. "No matter what you do for a living, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But they're really not allowed to touch, right?"

Liam laughs. "Right. I mean, there might be some groping occasionally, but…"

"How much groping are we talking?" Zayn demands.

Liam squeezes his ass. "Not much."

Zayn groans, but then he presses his lips to the mark on Liam's chest. "Just with their hands, though," he says. "I can touch with others things."

Liam lets out a breathless sound. "Yeah."

"And you don't touch them back," Zayn adds.

Liam's hands slide up his sides and then grip Zayn's length through his sweats. "Only you."

"I can deal with that," Zayn says, and then he lets Liam prop him up on the counter as they forget all about breakfast and the real world and everything that isn't each other and each other's bodies.

 

o|o

 

"It's weird with the lights on," Zayn says, looking around the club. It's smaller than it had looked in the dark, and the low lighting hid the fact that some of the booths need to be reupholstered, and the rings from drinks on the bar, and the fact that the walls could use a new coat of paint.

But something about the strip club during the day is almost… homey. It's warmer, quieter, and they're alone, for the most part. Or they are until Louis comes out onto the stage and gives Liam a long, curious look.

"Giving the boyfriend a tour, then?" he smirks. "You show him the change rooms and all the costumes?"

Instantly Zayn's interest is perked. "Costumes?"

"Down, boy," Louis says. "This is a family establishment."

Liam laughs, offering Louis a hand down off the stage that Louis takes before hopping down. He grins between Zayn and Liam for a long moment before he adds, "I'm glad this worked out." He looks at Zayn. "He's been into you for _ever_  now. It was getting sad, honestly. Pining is not a good look on you, Payne."

"At least I have emotions," Liam teases, not at all embarrassed about Louis telling Zayn that Liam had obviously talked about him enough that Louis knew who he was before they'd even met.

Louis sighs dramatically. "I know. I'm such a cliché. Stripper with a heart of stone and a dream in my pocket. Where's my lifetime movie? Where's my Cam Gigandet?"

"What are you even  _doing_  here?" Liam asks him, amused.

"Helping Alex with unmentionable things," Louis says darkly.

"You punched a guy who got too handsy again and she made you clean the bathrooms, didn't she?"

"Possibly." Louis pushes a few strands of hair off his forehead. "What are  _you_  doing here?"

Zayn feels heat in his cheeks, but he knows that he isn't an obvious blusher, thank god. "Just came to show Zayn some things," Liam says easily, which is true, technically.

But the real reason they're here is Liam wanted to give him 'lessons'. He's not exactly sure where the idea came from, but Zayn hadn't exactly fought him on it. Not if it means getting on stage and Liam's hands all over his body as he tries to show Zayn how to do what he does.

Plus, Zayn wants to impress him. Liam is so— he's fucking hot, honestly. Everything about Liam is just— and Zayn wants that. Wants Liam to think the same way of him, and he wants to see Liam's eyes widen as he moves his hips and pulls off his clothes. He wants that a lot.

"Don't fuck in my change room," Louis warns. "Only I'm allowed to do that."

Zayn makes a spluttering sound that Liam mimics, and Louis laughs as he walks away, heading for the door that he and Liam came in through after Liam introduced him to Alex, the woman who owns the club. She'd been nice enough, if not a little intimidating, and she seemed to really care about Liam. And she'd waved Liam off inside to use the club as long as he promised to be out of here before the girls working tonight show up.

"Now what?" Zayn asks. His voice echoes in the room, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

"You wait here," Liam says. "I'll put music on."

Zayn nods, and Liam hops up on stage before ducking inside a door that's just off the left of it, invisible to the untrained eye. When he's gone, Zayn looks around again. There's the main stage, the one Liam had been on that night Zayn came in. There are two other stages on either side of it, and each one of them houses a long, thick pole about the width of his wrist that goes from the stage floor all the way to the ceiling.

He's just wondering if Liam can use those, too, when the music comes on. It's not at full volume, clearly. It's lower, more in the background than anything, just loud enough to be clear and familiar.

" _I'm that flight that you get on, international,_ " plays as Liam comes back out from behind the stage. " _First class seat on my lap, girl, riding comfortable._ "

Liam jumps off the stage, offering his hand to Zayn, and Zayn nods at one of the poles. "You know how to use those?" he asks. "Or do you just dance?"

Liam's grin turns into a smirk, and he raises his eyebrows challengingly. "Wanna find out?" He tugs at Zayn's hand, pulling him towards the left stage. He climbs onto it easily, even though it's a few feet off the ground, and doesn't offer Zayn a hand up.

Zayn stays where he is on the floor as the song plays on and Liam shrugs out of his sweater without any finesse or theatrics. He balls it up and tosses it towards the nearest table, where it nearly slips off the top before coming to a stop.

" _All I really need to understand is when you talk dirty to me,_ " and Liam moves a bit, hesitantly, to the beat, like he's working up to it. He closes his eyes for a moment and Zayn watches on, biting the inside of his cheek because, fuck, that's his. Like, Liam doesn't belong to him, obviously, but— Zayn could climb that stage right now and then climb him like a fucking tree, and no one else who's been in Zayn's position right now could say the same thing.

Liam grabs the pole, wrapping a hand around it, and he does this easy, effortless twist around it and then, in one seamless movement, he wraps his other hand around the pole and then lifts up his entire body with just his arms. It's impossible and amazing and fucking hot, really. Liam moves his body so he's straddling the pole upside down, and then he slips lower slowly, lower and lower until Zayn's starting to worry that he's going to fall right on his fucking face, when he takes his hands off the pole.

Instead of falling, he holds himself up with his legs, planting his hands on the floor a second later, and then he's crawling towards Zayn like an animal, like a predator, and Zayn can't breathe.

When Liam hops off the stage, his grin is a little smug and he says, "What do you think? Can I work the pole, too?"

Zayn shoves at him, trying to pretend that that wasn't the hottest thing he's ever fucking seen. "I thought we came here so you could teach me," he reminds. "Or did you just come to show off?"

Liam kisses his cheek, lips lingering. "That wasn't showing off," he says. "Not even close."

Zayn shudders. "Come on," he says. "Let's just get this over with."

"Are you embarrassed?" Liam teases, poking his side.

"No," Zayn snaps. "I'm just— I'm a shit dancer, Li, you know that. And you're sort of a  _professional_."

"You're not a shit dancer," Liam says instantly. "You're good, you're just too self-conscious about it. By the time I'm done, you'll be a natural. Trust me. I've trained newbies before. This'll be like that, just a bit more hands on."

Zayn pauses. "How hands on?"

"Get on stage and find out."

Fuck if Zayn doesn't rise to that challenge. Sort of literally, if the tightness of his jeans is any indication.

The song changes as they get onto the main stage and Zayn doesn't recognize the beat or the, " _Does he know you can move it like that? Does he know you're out and I want you so bad?_ " that accompanies it. It doesn't really matter, though, because Liam's turning him around until they're pressed together with Zayn's back against his chest and Liam's hands on his hips.

"Now," Liam says, and he starts moving Zayn's hips for him. "For this song I go a little faster than usual. Sorry about that. I didn't mean for this song to come on next. It should be  _Sexy Back_. Louis must have changed my CD. But anyways, first thing, you have to know how to move your body and when it looks the best. Like, my arms. I tend to do anything to make them flex because they're my strong point. But you've got these hips, Zayn, and I— let's just focus on them first."

Liam's lips are close to his ear as he talks, and all Zayn wants is to lean against him instead of trying to learn some stupid dance. But this is what Liam wants, this is fun for him, so Zayn lets him have it. "Okay," he says, trying not to react to the compliment or the way Liam's voice hitched as he gave it. "And?"

Liam starts swaying them a little fast until they're really grinding on each other more than anything. "You've got nice shoulders, too," Liam muses. "This is where you'd take your shirt off."

"Right." Before Zayn can try to do that, Liam's hands are moving up his stomach, moving Zayn's shirt off him until he tugs it right off and throws it in the direction of the table with his sweater. "Fuck," Zayn mumbles, because Liam's fingers are skating over his nipples and they're still moving together.

"Everyone likes a good hip thrust," Liam says next, moving his hips forward until Zayn has no choice but to either do the same or grind back against him. He chooses the first one, but only because he knows that's what he's supposed to do even if it's not what he  _wants_  to do. "And you should touch yourself," he adds. "Like you're loving it and you can't help it."

Zayn cautiously lifts a hand over his chest and slowly moves it lower just as Liam pulls away from him, moving to stand in front of him. "Like this?" he asks, doing it again until his fingers bump against the waistband of his jeans.

Liam nods slowly. "Yeah," he says thickly. "That's – good, don't stop dancing. Women are wolves, Zayn. You show a hint of fear and they'll tear you apart. You have to keep going through anything, and if you stop moving, you're screwed."

Even though he has no plans to ever actually do this in front of anyone but Liam, Zayn nods, trying to mimic the way Liam had been swaying them. Boldly, after making sure that they're definitely alone, he thumbs at the button on his jeans. "When do these come off?" he asks.

"Whenever you want," Liam says after a moment, lifting his eyes from Zayn's body to meet his gaze. "But don't take them off all at once. Undo them, and then he keep dancing. Slowly push them down and then step out of them while you're still moving. You want it to look easy, like it's just any other dance move."

Taking Liam's advice, Zayn thumbs open his jeans and steps closer to Liam as he moves, He places his hand on Liam's chest and leans in for a kiss that Liam dodges, laughing as he moves away. Zayn doesn't let out the frustrated sound that bubbles up inside of him. Instead he plays along, wiggling a bit as he pushes his jeans down until they're precariously hanging by the tops of his thighs, revealing his tight boxers.

He turns around to face Liam again and, not as gracefully as he'd like, as Liam probably intended for him to, he kicks off his jeans and keeps moving towards Liam. Liam doesn't run this time; instead he meets Zayn halfway, dancing again himself. He grabs Zayn's hips and moves lower, lower, until his lips are grazing Zayn's stomach and he's kneeling on the stage.

Habitually, Zayn tangles his hands in Liam's hair, still moving his hips as Liam slowly moves back up. For a moment they just breathe in each other's air while Zayn digs his nails into Liam's hips, and then someone starts clapping and they both jump.

"Well done," Alex calls, red painted lips curving up in a wide, perfectly white smile. "You two would make a  _great_  duo. I'm sure the ladies would love it. This one did."

Zayn wraps a self-conscious arm around his stomach, but it's Liam who lets out a low, rough, almost growling sound. "No," he says, and Alex's eyebrows raise. "I mean. Zayn isn't looking for a job."

"Too bad," Alex said. "There'd be one if you wanted it, Zayn. But I just came to grab a bottle of vodka. You two carry on. I'll be out of your hair in a moment."

It's then that Zayn realizes that she was the woman behind the bar that night he came here. But that realization isn't important because Liam's gathering up their clothes, tossing Zayn's to him a little roughly. "It's fine," he calls to Alex. "We're heading out now, anyways. Could you get the music for me?"

"Sure, sure," she says, waving him off.

Confused, Zayn pulls on his clothes, feeling a little exposed in front of Alex. He likes her, sure, but not that much. As soon as he's fully dressed again, Liam grabs his hand, waves goodbye to Alex, and drags him outside while pulling out his phone.

Zayn frowns as Liam calls in for a cab to take them home, and when Liam hangs up he asks, "What's the rush? Was I that bad?"

Liam shakes his head tightly, lips pursed. "Not at all," he says distractedly. "But I need to get you home right now."

Zayn makes a face at him. "Why?"

Liam sighs, turning to wrap his arms around Zayn's waist. "Because I'm not fucking you at my workplace," he says, "but I'm so hard right now that I can't wait."

It's amazing, incredible, really, the way Liam can melt his brain with just a few words. It's also a little irritating, because it shouldn't be that damn easy. "Really," he says, strangled.

"We'll continue this at home," Liam says. "When I can touch you however I want without someone walking in. Don't know why I thought it'd be a good idea to do that here."

Normally this is where Zayn would tease him and say that Liam rarely has good ideas (even though it's not true) but he's too aroused to do anything but squeeze Liam's hand and impatiently tap his feet on the ground as he waits for the cab to show up.

When it does, the driver gives the club one look but doesn't say anything to them as they get inside. They're both quiet the whole ride, and Zayn seriously can't remember the ride here being this fucking long. He needs to be home  _now_.

 

o|o

 

There's fumbling and groping as they try to get in the door of the apartment, like neither of them can wait. Liam all but pushes Zayn inside, and Zayn doesn't fight him on it at all because Liam like this is incredibly fucking hot, actually. Not that he doesn't like it when he's the one pushing Liam down, guiding him, showing him what he wants, because he definitely does. He just likes this too. All of it. Slow, fast, soft, rough. He'll take Liam anyway he can get him.

"Next part of your lesson," Liam says, kicking the door closed and walking Zayn backwards with Zayn helpless to do anything but trust that Liam won't walk him into anything painful. His legs hit the couch, and Liam turns them at the last second so it's Zayn falling on top of him, not the other way around. "Hold the back of the sofa."

Zayn does as he's told, straddling Liam's waist, holding the couch for balance. Just as Liam had to him, Zayn experimentally grinds down against him until Liam groans and tilts his head back. "And then?"

"Off," Liam mumbles, pushing at Zayn's shirt. He complies easily, slipping it off slowly, taking his time, and when he's done Liam is watching him with heavily lidded eyes. "You're way too fast of a learner."

Zayn laughs. "What's next, babe?" He moves against Liam again, bracing all his weight on his hands.

Liam nips at the inside of his bicep, right on top of a tattoo, and now Zayn's groaning. "Unzip my jeans," he orders.

Zayn does as he's told, fingers shaking just a little as he leans back, fumbling with the button on Liam's, quite frankly, tight jeans. When he finally gets the zipper down, Liam puts a hand on the small of his back and lifts them both up easily, dropping Zayn onto his back.

"Don't move," Liam tells him, and Zayn nods as Liam heads for the bedroom.

He moves. Instead of listening, he unbuttons his own jeans and shimmies out of them, still lying flat on his back. He takes everything else off, too, just tugging off his last sock when Liam comes back and makes a soft, helpless sound.

It's just Liam, he reminds himself. Who cares if he's completely naked. "Come on," he urges. "It's not exactly warm in here."

Liam chuckles, wasting no time in making his way over. He shucks the last of his clothes, too, and then climbs on top of Zayn, settling between his spread legs. "Are we really going to fuck on the sofa?" he asks, like the idea is ridiculous.

Zayn shrugs. "Was bound to happen eventually," he points out.

Liam nods, like he knows it was, and then he pushes Zayn's legs a bit farther apart.

They're both too impatient to stretch it out and take their times. Liam quickly slicks up his fingers and the next moment he's pushing one into Zayn carefully, looking up at him with wide eyes as if to ask if he's okay. Zayn moans his assurance and Liam keeps going, working it in and out of him until Zayn's needy for another one, pushing down against him.

"Love you on top of me," Zayn mumbles, a bit incoherent with his head pressed against the cushion and his eyes squeezed closed. It's like an assault, the way Liam presses against that spot inside him like he knows exactly what to do to drive Zayn crazy. "Fucking—love it."

"Love you underneath me," Liam tells him, lips brushing Zayn's cock. "You look amazing."

"Love  _you_ ," Zayn gasps, eyes flickering open at Liam swallowing him down. He looks, and Liam's giving him a surprised look somehow, even though his lips are sort of wrapped around Zayn's cock. "I didn't—I mean, I just sort of— slipped out. Sorry, I—"

Liam shakes his head, lowering his mouth, quirking his fingers inside of Zayn, and it feels a lot like an _I love you too_  to Zayn.

"Just—" Zayn waves a hand. "You better get in me now unless you want me to come first."

Liam nods hastily, pulling off him, seemingly unaware of the obscene string of saliva connecting his lips to the head of Zayn's wet prick. He slicks himself up, and neither of them even bothers for the box of condoms back in the bedroom that they'd gotten a few days ago. Zayn could care less, and Liam obviously couldn't, either. Not enough to break this up to grab one.

It hurts as Liam pushes into him. It's been forever since he's done this with anyone, and the discomfort weighs out over everything until Liam bites at his earlobe and whispers, "Tell me when you're okay and I'll make it good for you."

"Do it," Zayn presses. "Fuck.  _Now_ , Liam."

Liam laughs hotly against his neck, but he does as he's told. He wraps a hand around one of Zayn's ankles, pushing it up and up and, damn, Zayn didn't even know he was that flexible. But the move makes Liam slide deeper, and he feels so fucking full, stretched, and it's—

"Fuck," Zayn groans. "Fuck, Liam."

"Yeah," Liam agrees. He starts moving, slow at first, careful, but Zayn rakes his nails down Liam's back and Liam  _moves_ , twisting his hips until Zayn cries out, throwing an arm over his face. He bites down hard on his own arm, trying to distract himself from how much, how good it feels, but Liam pulls his arm away. "Don't hide," he says.

"So-sorry," Zayn mumbles. "I—  _fuck_ , oh. Can you— yeah, yeah."

"There?" Liam asks, and when Zayn looks up there's an unsurprisingly smug look on Liam's face.

"Now who's— the smug one?" Zayn grunts.

Liam just grins down at him, but then Zayn bears down on him and that look slips away, followed by a moan that he doesn't try to hide or stifle the way Zayn would have. But Liam never has and this is no exception. He's just – open about everything, about how he feels and Zayn loves it. Loves that he can tell how good this is for Liam just by looking at him, the way his lips part and his brow scrunches.

Eventually he reaches a hand between them, wrapping it around himself because he can't help it, he has to come. He has to come fucking now, because the tension in his body has him taught and clenched, and he needs— he's so close.

Liam is, too. Zayn can tell. Liam's eyes are always wide open before he does, holding Zayn's, and there's a hitch in his breath just before Zayn comes and Liam falls on top of him, trapping Zayn's hand between his body as he falls over the edge and tumbles down, down, down with nothing but Liam to cling to.

There's nothing but heavy breathing afterwards and the sticky mess between them. Liam eventually pushes himself up, hovering over Zayn, and Zayn winces as Liam pulls out of him. He wants Liam back, wants this to continue and never end, but he's exhausted already and all he wants is to get cleaned up and fall asleep.

After, when Liam's wiped them both down and they're curled on the sofa again, a blanket thrown precariously over them both, Liam kisses at the top of his head and asks, not looking at him, "Did you mean, or was it just a heat of the moment thing?"

Zayn doesn't have to ask what he means. He does, however, have to look up at Liam. He's a coward when it comes to his own emotions a lot of the time, Zayn, but not with Liam. "What if it wasn't a heat of the moment thing?" he wonders.

Liam bites his lip. "Then I'd – I do, too. If it wasn't, that is. I do."

"Yeah," Zayn says. He lays his head on Liam's chest again, and Liam brushes his hands down Zayn's arms. "I do, then."

And for the millionth time, they fall asleep there on their lumpy sofa with a scratchy comforter thrown over them and the light of the streetlamp just outside their window shining over them.

 


End file.
